Table For Two
by TheGalaxiesBetween
Summary: A series of RusAme drabbles. Updates will be spontaneous - some may be rated M.
1. Chapter 1

**Porcelain**

It glowed and glimmered, shinning under the dull rays of the morning's quivering sun. It held a soft, beautiful radiance that so few could possess. Many thought it to be a sickly color, but many more found it to be unusually breath-taking. Pale ivory, nearly white- flawless.

He trailed his fingers down the figure before him, fluttering touches against the smooth terrain in which exposed itself to his eyes. It was soft: like the touch of a rose petal, or the smooth glide of a new silk. He enjoyed touching it- he always had, and is very likely to always will.

Down one limb, to the massive one that rested itself against his waist, holding their bare hips together and securing their bodies close for the duration of the morning's stay. He intertwined their fingers, slipping his between the still hand of his partner - and he marvled at it.

The contrast of his own golden skin, against the soft snow-like color. It made them both pop out, he in his own radiant, lively contour; and his partner vibrant with a gentle shade of a winter-kissed complexion.

Those larger, duller fingers squeezed softly for a moment, before settling for a grip that was present enough to display his state of wake. The bed shifted slightly, it creaked under the change of moved weight as a soft breath now brushed ever so gently against the bone of his cheek, and he felt a smile on his own lips when a plumper pair pressed themselves against the cheek in which his breath had just previously been. There was a deep rumble beneath the fingertips that rested against his chest: a small hum gruff with the weight of a new day.

He looked up, and amongst the ivory covered features, he caught onto the two, enticing violet orbs in which glazed in the newness of morning, not quite used to the light just yet. Long eyelashes brushed against a pale cheek, and the lips he'd just felt slowly spread into a warm, tired smile. He looked lovely in this kind light, like a delicate doll of porcelain.

"Good morning, Fredka."

"Good morning, Vanya. "


	2. Chapter 2

**Letters**

Alfred,

I'm sorry; it seems so long since I've last written to you. The company has grown rather popular in these past few months, I find myself without any sort of free time anymore. Luckily, I managed to find a few spare moments to sit down and write to you.

How long has it been now: 2 years? It went by, physically, so quickly- and yet my heart throbs with the ache of hundreds of years. Maybe I will see you soon, da? Though, if I dropped in too soon, I know you'd be upset with me.

Your friend from the Marines stopped by the other day, Arthur, I think it was. He came inside and we talked for a while- well, he did most of the talking. I'm not too fond of speaking of your departure. We didn't argue (no matter how much I wanted to acquaint his face with my fist at times) infact, I daresay it was a rather nice conversation. You probably like the idea of he and I getting along, don't you?

The garden doesn't look as green as it did when you left. The roses have lost their vibrant red, and a few didn't even bloom this spring. I tend to it when I can, though I know my thumb is not nearly as green as yours. The sunflowers are doing well, though. Their taller then me, and, though the petals aren't as bright as they should be, they still stand all the same.

I miss you, Alfred. It's odd to wake in the morning to an empty bed, to not hear some kind of horrid pop music or smell that disgusting cooking grease in the air when I get home. I can hardly sleep at night, my body seems to forget that you won't be here to act as my warmth at night. I try everything I can, but I toss and I turn, and when I do sleep, my dreams are filled with memories of the day you left. That's why, in a way, I'm glad I don't sleep as much as I should. I know your gone when I'm awake, I don't need to be reminded when I close my eyes.

It's snowing again; I can remember when you'd wake me in the mornings like an excited child. You'd force me out of bed and wrap me in coats and gloves before I could day a word, and you'd drag me into the yard to play. I'd sit and watch as you'd build forts and make snow angles- and it was times like those when I'd remember how horribly I'd fallen in love with you. I regret it now: not building a snowman when you wanted me to, or purposely eating the marshmallows in your hot chocolate when you turned away. I should have done those things, should have indulged you in those little delights while you were here. But I can't now, can I? No, not until we meet again.

I look forward to seeing you again, to falling asleep in the warmth of your embrace and kissing your soft lips once more. I hope that time will come soon Alfred, I hope..

Yours forever,

Ivan

. . . .

He sealed the envelope, looking down at the crisp white paper as his fingertips lightly traced the edges. After a moment, he stood tall again, and left the room.

. . . .

The car door shut behind him, and with a click of his remote, the doors of the vehicle locked behind him. He shoved in hands into the pockets of his coat, the plastic wrapped around the sunflower bouquet under his crinkling as he did so, and dipped his chin a little further into his scarf, gaining only some warmth against the bitter cold of the winter afternoon. The snow crunched below his feet as he began to walk up the path and to the tall gate that stood ahead.

After he'd passed through, Ivan made his way up the hill, his eyes set dully forward, locked ahead of him and not on the miles and miles of empty fields. It was bare, the grass having died with the cold temperatures, but the one thing that stayed standing and present was the large oak at the top of the hill. It's leaves had long since falled, leaving an ominous structure of bare branches and twisted wood.

When he reached the top of the hill, he kneeled down in front of the single stone that stood there. He pushed away the snow on the ground, until a tin image of the American flag came into view. Quietly, he pulled the tin bow up, setting it on his knees as he opened it. Ivan pulled the envelope from his pocket and set it in gently on top of the thick stack of others, before he shut it again with a soft click.

The sunflowers and the tin was set in front of the stone, and for the first time since he'd arrived Ivan looked at it. He felt a smile on his lips, a bitter, self - pity laced smile as he leaned down and pressed his lips ever so gently against the stone, feeling the indents of the carved words beneath his lips:

Alfred F. Jones

Brother and Son, Honored Solider, and Loved Fiancée

1990-2012

Ivan rose again, and with a last glance, turned his back on the tombstone of his beloved Fiancée.

He reminded himself to write another letter soon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Soul**

The shrill cry of a new born infant filled the air, along with the broken sobs of a man, and the dying breaths of his wife. The nurse stood aside, cradling the child in her arms and doing her best to sooth the small babe. The sheets of the bed had been stained with blood and various other fluids, but that didn't stop the man from staying there still, holding tight to his love, whom slipped farther and farther from him with every moment that passed.

"P-Please..Please..Don't take her."

The nurse thought him mad; who was he speaking to? Not her, nor his dying wife, but whom? Perhaps it was the great beyond, or their God to whom he pleaded?

Or, perhaps, the cloaked figure whom stood tall at the edge of the bed.

He did make a sound, his face blank and barren of any form of pity or even sorrow- one might dare to say he looked incredibly bored. His robes were black as the night, perhaps even blacker, and stood in harsh contrast to the white of his skin and hair. The deep violet of his eyes was fixated on the woman, a deep heavy gaze that cared not for the man who wept above his prey. He responded not to the man, nor to anything else as he soundlessly removed a black leather glove, showing not a human hand, but one of bone. He reached out, fingers growing closer, bone nearly to skin, but he was stopped before he could touch,

"Take me instead!"

The hand stopped, and the cold amethyst gaze shifted from the dying woman, turning instead to the pale man who clung to her.

"That is not possible. It is not your time." His voice was deep, and more gruff then what was expected from a man with such a childish complexion.

Still, Arthur Kirkland would not take no for an answer, "I don't care! Take me, damnit! Just let her live!" A child could live without a father, it happened all the time- but a mother, no, that was a necessity in any infant's life.

There was a sigh, and then an annoyed respond as he pulled his glove back into place, "What part of that did you not understa-" But he paused, listening for a moment as if he'd just now heard the wailing of the baby. The reaper turned, his dead eyes shifting from the man to the whining child.

He'd heard of this before, of souls that called out to a reaper, of spirits and hearts reaching out to death itself. The tales were told and believed by all his kind, yet not by him. He'd never experienced it before, had never felt his very being pulled to a soul, or felt the reverse- that was, until now. They said that souls would call to their destined reaper, but my, did this soul sing to him.

The two on the bed were quickly forgotten, and in a few great strides he was to the nurse, who cowared back and held the babe tighter. He payed her little mind as he reached out, prying the child from her arms with ease and cradling him in his own. In his arms, the crying and wailing began to die to sniffles and hiccups, until the baby fell silent. It blinked, it's big blue eyes still shining with tears as it looked up at the reaper. After a moment though, it let out a giggle, cooing and clapping in the reaper's arms.

The reaper felt the corner of his lips tug up a bit, as if he wanted to smile at the actions of the young human. He held him now in one arm as he freed the other to hold gently trace a gloved finger down the side of the infant's face. The child grabbed tight to the finger with both of his little fists, staring in complete fixation before it giggled again, pulling it close to cuddle it to his chest. Beneath his fingers, the reaper felt the soft and steady heart beat of the child, and knew right then that this soul was his.


	4. Chapter 4

**Shakesphere**

A hand slipped into his own, holding softly, yet still seeming so tight. There was a smile on those soft lips, and a glimmer of something new in the violet eyes that watched him.

"If I profane with my unworthiest hand," The words started, smooth like a warm breeze and filled with more love then he'd ever heard from the other, "This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this. My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand. To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss."

His heart quickened, hammering in his chest at the smooth words that came from those pale lips. The smoldering intensity of the violet gaze set on him made his throat run dry, and he was unable to speak for a moment. But, after a glance down, eyes scanning words again, he said,

" Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this; for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss."

A small smirk, a caught breath,

"Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?"

"A-Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer."

" O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; they pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair." A step was taken forward, and the hand in his own tightened ever so slightly as they grew closer.

"Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake."

The smirk on Ivan's lips grew, and he leaned a little closer, voice becoming a little softer, and Alfred's mind going a little blanker.

"Then move not, while my prayer's effect I from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged." He came in closer, now mere inches away, closer and closer until-

Until the bell of dismissal stopped him.

Students stood, grabbing their bags and closing their books as they headed for the door. The book in Alfred's had was closed as well with a shaky sigh, and Ivan moved away from him, turning his back without a word as he went to his own desk. Mr. Kirkland nodded to Alfred as he passed, and as the two were packing their books he said,

"Thank you both for volunteering to read today. You don't need to again tomorrow, I'll make some other students be Romeo and Juilet next time."

Ivan merely smiled and nodded, glancing at Alfred one last time before slinging his bag over his shoulder and leaving the class. Alfred cursed the warmth on his cheeks and grabbed his backpack.

He really hated Shakesphere.

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	5. Chapter 5

**Music**

He stood quickly, his attention drawn to the trembling figure that now stood in the threshold of his bedroom. Above them they would hear the yelling and the stomping of feet as the mob moved through the Opera house, moving lower and lower, getting closer and closer to where they were. He'd wanted to be left alone now, to let them find him and end his life; after the years of haunting and harassing, they had every right to. Had it not been for the young singer who stood before him now, Ivan would have stayed where he had been, covering the eyes of the monkey and singing softly the lyrics of a song that had brought so much joy just nights ago.

There were trails of tears down Alfred's cheeks- Ivan supposed there were some down his as well. They'd both cried: Alfred in fear, and Ivan in despair. Even now, he still wept, but silently, for he would not pain Alfred's heart any further with his sadness.

But there was a weep, a single, soft sob when Alfred held out his hand, revealing the ring Ivan had so forcibly put on his finger during Don Juan Triumphant. It's diamonds had sparkled in the lights of the stage, holding so much promise and passion in their light, but now they glowed and dim hue in the lights of his shortening candles, and the fire they once held was no more then a dull ache.

He forced himself to move, cringing at the fear that flashed in his student's eyes as he approached. It was not from his face; Alfred had grown used to the sight in the time since his mask had been ripped from him, but from him, from his very presence. Ivan reached out, his hand trembling as he moved closer, his fingers curling over Alfred's to close his fingers around the ring, keeping it pressed into his hand.

"Alfred, I love you."

The words were soft, broken, even pleading. In them was a trace of hope, and yet also an element of sorrow that shot it back down. Alfred had already made his choice, and the young Vicomte was waiting for him at the boat. Still, despite his betrayal, the words brought a sob from Alfred's lips, which turned to soft weeping and he held the ring tight in his hand. Ivan could feel his hot tears dripping onto the back of his hand, and his throat ran dry as Ivan watched his love weep before him. A gentle kiss was pressed to his hand, before Alfred slowly brought himself to withdraw. He looked upon him again, his mentor, his stalker, his Angel, and turned away from him for the last time, and left him alone in his room. The moment the Alfred left his side, the Phantom collapsed and he wept.

"Say you'll share with me, one love, one lifetime."

The words echoed off the walls of his liar, nearly covered by the yelling of the mob, which had gotten considerably louder. Those words, which at one point had held so much love and joy, now sounded like a tearful swan song in the Phantom's ears. He knew who was to respond to those words, and cringed when he heard,

"Say the word, and I will follow you."

Away from Ivan, at the shore of the lake where the boat rested, ready for departure, stood the two lovers who'd caused the Phantom's suffering. The young Vicomte Arthur stood on the boat, his hand extended for his childhood love to come aboard, a sad, yet hopeful smile on his lips as he awaited Alfred to take his hand.

Yet, even as the words were sang, as their promise remade, his hand was not taken. Alfred looked at the man before him and saw the boy he'd grown up with - and nothing more. His heart hadn't throbbed so horribly for Arthur and it did for Ivan; he was so foolish as to have not noticed it now. So, he reached out, just as his Angel and done to him, and closed Arthur's hand. He didn't stay, he couldn't bring himself to look at the Vicomte's face as he turned his back and retreated to where the Phantom lay weeping.

Ivan felt hands carding through his hair, soft, gentle hands that felt so warm yet foreign to him. His breath was taken from his lips and slowly, he rose his head, looking into the soft blue eyes of the young man he'd grown to love so horribly.

"Share each day with me, each night, each morning."

Those words held their love again, a love not for Vicomte Kirkland, but for him, for the Phantom of the Opera. And as Ivan pulled him into his tight embrace, holding him close and kissing him passionately as the Vicomte left alone on the boat, he knew that his music had only just begun.

**This one was a crossover with The Phantom of the Opera. Yes, I did change the ending so that he goes to the Phantom- bite me.**

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	6. Chapter 6

**Home**

The Earth was a sight to see.

The clouds swirling on the surface, move and dragged across the surface by gentle winds they could not see. The oceans were a true blue, even from all these miles and miles away. In his mind, he could hear the lapping of waters on the shores, and the seagulls that would fly over head.

Continents, countries, colonies- all loomed beneath him, open and exposed for his eyes. It seemed so odd to think that there was something down there, that millions of people with millions of stories walked those green hills. For buildings and monuments that calmed to be so tall, Alfred couldn't see a single one. Just blue, green, and whips of white.

The intercom in his helmet crackled to life, "You almost done out there, Jones, over."

Alfred looked back towards the shuttle, seeing his coworker gesturing for him to hurry up from the inside. He glanced back over to the side of the ship, pulling himself closer and grabbing the belt that floated at his waist. After fixing the loose screw, he found his eyes trailing back to the planet before. Another crackle,

"We should be passing over Russia right now, over."

The young astronaut felt a fond smile tugging at his lips, and as he was about to reply, a new voice cut him off.

"Ain't that where you're from, Jones?"

No, not originally - he wanted to say. He'd been born and raised in the town of Coleman, Alabama. It wasn't until he'd graduated from collage that he moved from his beloved states, and right into the center of St. Petersburg.

Through his suit, he rubbed his ring finger, feeling the warm metal of his wedding ring against his skin as he replied,

"Yeah, that's home."

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	7. Chapter 7

**Blood**

"You are disgusting - I can almost taste the capitalism in your blood."

Lies. Alfred's blood was sweet and soothing - Ivan couldn't get enough of it.

"Well if you don't like it, go to someone else."

A bandaid was placed in the wound, and his shirt was rebuttoned. Arms wrapped around his waist and he felt a cold breath on his neck, making him shiver.

"Da, but then you would get jealous. "

The accented tone was laced with amusement and Alfred turned his head, glaring back at the vampire who's smiling lips were still scarlet with his blood. Instead of a snarky comment or quick jab, Alfred only kissed him firmly, tasting his own blood on his lips.

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	8. Chapter 8

**Mockery**

"You're trembling."

The breath was hot on his neck, and his shaking body jerked back onto the cold surface he was tied to. The ropes around his wrists rubbed his skin raw, and he felt hot beads of blood dribble down his sweating arms. He winced when he felt a cold tongue lap at the drops of blood, the knot in his stomach twisting tighter and tighter as vomit rose in his throat.

The blindfold around his eyes was damp with tears and sweat. It was tight around his head, and when he moved it tugged painfully at the hairs entwined in the knot. The rag around his mouth tasted horrible on his tongue, like bleach and iron.

A hand ghosted over his naked body, followed by the sharp edge of a blade that didn't cut. It skimmed over his skin, leaving faint red lines and reminding him that in one swift jab it'd penetrate his skin and end his life. The very through brought another chocked sob from his throat and the blindfold dampened.

"Nyet, do not cry~ You know I will make this painless."

That was a lie, and Alfred knew it- the pressure on the blade told him so. A breath hit his neck and he jerked slightly at the sudden feeling, the fibers if the rope digging deeper into the raw, bleeding flesh of his wrists. He felt lips- smirking, amused lips- against his neck. For a moment, the kiss was soft, and had he been in any other situation with any other person, Alfred wouldn't have minded it. But no, this kiss brought vomit to his throat and only made his body tremble all the harder. A tongue darted out, lapping soothingly at his neck.

And then the blade plunged deep into his stomach.

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	9. Chapter 9

**Story**

"My son," His father started, placing his hands upon his broad shoulders as he stood behind him. He met Ivan's gaze through the reflection of the mirror, and brought a smile to his dry lips. Ivan, however, offered no such in return, instead sporting a small frown. He wanted to please is father and bring honor to his kingdom and family, but this was not what he had in mind.

"Come, Vanya, it won't be nearly as bad as you think it will. Just look at your mother and I - we turned out happily, didn't we?"

They did, he thought, but not until after they were wed. Ivan instead looked away from the mirror, sighing softly. It was his father's turn to frown. He removed his hands from his son's shoulders and moved to the table beside them, picking up the crown from its cushion, "You are doing our kingdom a great favor, Vanya. The people rejoyce in knowing that their Prince will be wed to another royal. Our kingdom will prosper with these relations, and when you take the throne, I'm sure you, and your Queen, will do well."

Ivan should have been comforted by those words, but he wasn't. Any other Prince would take bride in having to wed a royal from a large and wealthy kingdom, but Ivan, however, wasn't. He wanted to marry someone he loved, someone he truly cared for, not just someone whom his parents chose. What is they didn't get along, what if they didn't like eachother?

His father placed the crown on his head and, with another smile (this one still not returned), patted his back. "Come, we should not keep them waiting any longer." With another moments pause, they left the room.

. . . . .

"But Momma, what if he's ugly?"

"He isn't ugly, Prince Ivan is said to be rather handsome."

"But..But what if we don't get along?"

"You will get along just fine, Alfred. Stop worring."

The young Prince Alfred was pacing quickly in the throne room, his hands running through his hair in nervousness. His mother sat upon her throne, calmly soothing out the wrinkles and creases in her dress. His father sat tall beside her, talking to the knight who stood at his side. Alfred paid them little mind and glanced out the window, his heart racing in his chest. He was scared, to say the least, horribly nervous. Since the moment he'd been told of his engagement to a Prince of a far away land, Alfred had been quite restless. He'd heard of marriages between royals that didn't turn out too well - his elder brother, for instance. Arthur had been married for 4 years now, and he still loated Francis with all his being. Alfred didn't want that, he prayed nearly every night that he'd be able to fall in love with him: this Prince Ivan.

He wondered if Ivan would like him, if he would mind his loudness and energy. What if he was the kind to prefer the quiet? What if he disliked sweets at midnight, or saddle - less horse rides through the hot summer days? Could Alfred give up those little things, could he withdraw on his pleasures- would he have to?

But soon, there was no more time to think, the doors of the throne room had opened- and quick as a rush of a lapping wave, the Princes' worries went away.

Golden hair, violet eyes, soft lips, pale skin, light freckles, broad shoulders- how lovely it was, that first moment of sight. No sight was more beautiful then Prince Alfred in Ivan's eyes, and Prince Ivan was more handsome then any other in Alfred's.

Perhaps this was what the story books meant when they said love at first sight, for when they calmly stepped forward, Ivan extending his hand and Alfred taking it, they began to believe in a happily ever after.

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	10. Chapter 10

**Mistletoe**

What was it that made people kiss beneath these green leaves? They were seen as romantic symbols, a way to show your love to your special someone during the holiday season.

Ivan just saw a plant hanging on a string.

He didn't know why Alfred wanted him to hang the mistletoe in the threshold of their little home; maybe it was just tradition, or maybe it was just bubbly little Alfred.

Their whole house had been covered roof to basement in glimmering lights and jolly decor, giving their whole house the feeling of a Hallmark during the holiday season. No, Ivan didn't dislike it (there were a few things he couldn't stand, though, like the singing snowman on the nightstand in their room. Lord knows how hard it is to get an erection when Frosty is belting in your ears.) but had he been living alone, these decorations would not have even been purchased.

Had he been living alone, a lot of things would not have happened. Ivan had lived a quiet and comfortable life, working as an English teacher to support only himself. He didn't have a companion at his side, his sisters having lives of their own and living too far away to see regularly. Ivan was content with his small home and his small life but even in that solice, his heart ached with the weight of loneliness.

He'd spent nearly three Christmases on his own in the house, but that changed when Alfred came around. The new Science teacher just across the hall had taken both the attention and his heart in an instant. He was popular quickly, with his beautiful golden hair and shimmering blue eyes that held all the promises of tomorrow; Alfred F. Jones was a man you'd only find once in many life times.

That's why Ivan was rather confused when he came into his room one afternoon, his freckled cheeks pink with a vibrant blush, and hands fiddling with his Superman tie, and asked him to lunch. He agreed to that lunch, and the ones everyday following. Lunches turned to dinners, dinners turned to movies in the living room and star gazing on the balcony until, finally, they decided they didn't want to wait until the next dinner rolled around. Alfred moved in at the end of the Spring, just in time for summer; Ivan's heart was on fire, and not just from the heat.

Every moment was cherished and treasured, locked away in Ivan's mind to remember for the rest of his days. Yes, he loved Alfred, so dearly that he felt he couldn't bear to live without him- that's why a small box sat under the tree, wrapped in a snowflake patterned paper and topped with a silver bow that glittered like the ring inside.

That's another thing he would have never bought, had Alfred not been here. Ivan realized then, as if for the first time, as he stood under that mistletoe, just how different his life would be without Alfred in it. He could only see what his life was: waking up to an empty bed, eating breakfast alone and cleaning dinner plates by himself. He'd still be alone, so terribly alone, with nothing but his students and his conscience as his company.

The front door opened, followed by the loud rush of wind and a cold gust of winters air. Boots stopped, getting the snow off before they were slid off, followed by a scarf, hat, coat, and gloves.

"Jesus fuck, it's cold as Jack Frost's balls out there!"

The loud voice boomed from the foyer, followed by footsteps, before a figure appeared in the threshold. Alfred's nose and cheeks were tinted red with the cold of winter, and his bangs still carried little flakes of fallen snow. Despite his slight shivering, Alfred grinned at his lover, looking up at him with those baby blues that Ivan fell so horribly in love with. He opened his mouth to say something before he paused, his eyes catching on to the green vegetation that hung above them.

"You actually hung it up?"

"Da. That is what you wanted, isn't it?" He glanced up at it, "I could move it somewhere else, if you'd like. The kitchen doorway may be a good pla-"

But he was stopped by a pair of soft lips, and instantly his words were forgotten and his hands left his sides to wrap around the waist in front of him. He felt those lips pulling into a smile, followed by arms around his neck. They stayed like that, enjoying their gentle kiss and the feeling of being wrapped in each other's arms.

Ivan couldn't wait until Christmas morning- he wanted Alfred to open his present already.

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	11. Chapter 11

**Holy**

Father Ivan's grip on him tightened, his nails digging into the flushed skin as he groaned into the other's neck, filling him to the rim with his seed. Beneath him, Alfred moaned at the feeling, his legs spreading just a little wider as his back arched at the feeling of being filled. Their breaths came out in short, damp pants, the sound of it echoing off the walls.

The Russian brought his hand to his mouth, licking the cum that dripping from his fingers as he smirked down at the man underneath him. Alfred returned it with a grin of his own, his hair ruffled and cheeks still flushed. Ivan opened his mouth, about to speak when he paused.

Quickly, he looked over the back of the pew, his eyes scanning the empty church. The doors were still closed, and the other rows were empty.

"What is it?"

Ivan looked back down at Alfred before shaking his head, "Nothing, I thought I heard something."

Alfred sat up, shifting so he now sat on Ivan's lap. He leaned in close, his tongue darting out to lick slowly at the others neck before he leaned up, his hot breath hitting Ivan's ear as he spoke, "Good- we aren't done yet."

Father Ivan was quick to grab on to the young man's hips again, and pushed his growing erection back into Alfred's dripping erection. The blonde shuddered at the feeling, wrapping his arms around Father Ivan's neck as he began to rock and bounce in his lap, riding him roughly for the third time that afternoon.

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	12. Chapter 12

**Say**.

_And I will swallow my pride_

"I just..I just don't know anymore, Ivan."

There was a silence, a cold, bitter silence between the two as they stood in front of eachother. The atmosphere was heavy with the weight of a heartbreak that was about to come, yet his throat was in knots, and he couldn't find the words.

_You're the one that I love_

"Maybe..Maybe it'd be best if we just..stopped."

He felt tears welling in his eyes, hot tears that matched those of his partners. Ivan shook his head, slowly at first before making the gesture quicker, gaining confidence as he did so.

"N-No, Fredka..Y-You cant..I cant..I can't live without you."

"But I can't live with you."

_And I'm saying goodbye_

Soft, trembling lips were pressed to his own, and Ivan grasped at his shoulders tightly, as if he was a piece of himself. His world, his life, his love was in his arms now, and their last kiss was salty with tears and tasted bittersweet. Ivan held him desperately, praying, begging that this was all some kind of sick joke; but when Alfred pulled away, when he didn't even glance back as he turned and walked, Ivan knew this was no joke.

_Say Something..._

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	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Lately I've been feeling as though these past few parts have been shit, so here, have a decent one. **

**. . . . .**

**Beast**

_There are things in this world, dark, distorted things that one would only encounter in the shadows of their own tormented conscience. Hatred bubbled and brewed into beasts far uglier then the goblins and ogres in a child's story book, men spilled blood as freely as they indulged themselves in the fruit of the vine and evil lurked in the hearts of so many. Since before time began, darkness had befallen upon man kind, from the moment Eve ate of the sacred tree, a deep, rumbling evil had seeped into the roots of all life. In a world once ment for light and peace, all had been tainted with the blood of sin._

_Sin: just the word was bitter in and of itself. It tasted sour on the tongue and sounded like a foul curse on the lips, but the action itself struck the true disgust into each and every heart on earth. Greed, Lust, Anger, Envy- all set the gears of hatred in motion. It is in sin, that we find our story begins._

_Long ago in the frozen lands of the East, there lived a young prince. He was known far and wide for his beauty, for he was truly the most handsome in all the land. The prince was young and strong, dashing and bold, but, in the depths of his heart, pride ceased him tightly. He was vein and selfish, thinking of all as below and none as above. The young prince was rude and vicious, and thought of no other but himself and his wonderous beauty._

_It was a dark night long, long ago, when an old woman knocked upon the castle door. She was hideous, with boils and moles atop her wrinkled skin, and the prince sneer at the monstrosity he saw behind the door. She was old and trembling in the cold, and begged the prince to allow her shelter withing the walls of his grand castle. Repulsed by the disgusting creature before him, the vile prince rejected her, refusing to share his home with one so hideous as she._

_Before the prince's eyes, the old, rugged woman glowed and glistened, transforming into a beautiful young enchantress before him. He begged and pleaded for forgiveness, having not known she truly was beautiful. But his pleas feel on deaf ears, for the enchantress had already decided his punishment for his lack of compassion to all he deemed ugly. She placed a curse on the young prince, and changed him from the beautiful man he was to a hideous beast. If he could not find someone to love, and gain their love in return, before the last petal of the enchanted rose fell, then the prince would forever remain in the hideous form of the beast._

"And the Beast still lives in that castle, scaring away all who come near him and his home! Some say he comes to the town at night, looking into the windows of young girls to see who he could take to break the curse!"

A laugh followed, filled with amusement and accompanied by the clacking of dishes as a young man cleared the dirtied breakfast plates from the table. The faint smell of eggs filled the light air of the small home, and the soft rays of the morning sun brought it to life with a cozy glow. Just outside the open window the sounds of the town could be heard: shoes on cobblestone, rolling of carts, and the laughter of children playing through the streets. It was a peaceful and calming morning, and had his father not chosen today to leave for his trip, Alfred may have enjoyed it.

"Papa," He started, cleaning off the dishes as his father stood from the table, licking his lips and rubbing his belly as he always did after a nice meal, "Are you telling me this to warn me? Is the Beast going to snatch you away? I doubt he'd mistake you for a pretty young girl."

His father took the quilt draped on the back of the seat, placing it over his head and flipping it over his shoulder as though they were shimmering locks of hair, "He may very well, I'd say I'm rather beautiful!"

They both laughed at that, and the blanket was refolded and put over the chair once again. When the dishes were cleared and put away in their places again, the two grabbed the bags and trucks by the door, hauling them out to the carriage just in front of their home. The Z-Wapper was hitched carefully to the back, and the tools were nustled in right beside it.

His father was to set out to the west and sell his latest invention, a machine that could cut logs, brew tea, and open letters all in a matter of moments. Alfred hadn't any idea why those things needed to be done at the same time, but when he saw the contraption work for the first time, he found he didn't much care. He had faith in his father, and looked up to him more then any other, despite the people of the town scolding the inventor for his oddity and strange creations. People tended to shun what they couldn't understand, but Alfred knew it would only be a matter of time before they realized his father's true greatness.

When his father was all saddled into the mare attached to the carriage, Alfred came to his side, handing him the satchel of food he'd prepared before breakfast. His father smiled that special smile reserved only for his son and took the pouch, ruffling Alfred's hair with a warm affection.

"Hurry back, Papa." Alfred said, smiling up to him, though his eyes held a faint sadness. His father was his world, his only reason to wake in the morning and sleep another night. Since his mother died, they had only eachother, but that was enough. The two were inseparable, and Alfred found his happiness in the loving arms of his dear father. He hated these times the most: when he'd have to go away. Despite his disliking for them, Alfred knew they were necessary to provide for themselves, and made sure not to complain too much.

His father fastened the satchel at his side and looked back down at Alfred, his lips quirked in a teasing manner, "Don't you worry Alfred, I'll be back soon enough. No beast is going to get you just yet!"

Alfred only laughed, stepping away as his father took the horse's reigns in his hands, "Believe me, Papa, there won't be any Beast wanting me anytime soon."

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	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Tried to recreate the scene in Twilight in which Bella and Edward are laying side by side in the field. Don't know if it worked, but enjoy.**

. . . . .

**Field**

The sun was dull that day, as though to preserve the calm, sentimental quiet of the world. Clouds rolled by in a gentle wave of lazy carelessness, yet never ceased their moving. A breeze carried with it the smell of the ocean, moist with salt and still heavy with the fresh morning water.

Tall stalks of lavender swayed softly in that calming breeze, the smell intertwining with the new waves to create a surreal scent that enticed slumber. The tall grass glimmered in the pale light, like drops of falling water catching the light for just a moment before dropping and splitting completely, never again to be whole as they were before.

The soft shade of his hypnotizing eyes resembled that of the flowers in their field. When he looked into them, he could see those gentle blossoms and smelled the alluring scent of the ocean on the breeze, but then he'd look away, and Alfred felt it no longer.

They lay there, lost in their own world of nothing but flowers and waves, of eternity and each other. No words, no sound, only them and their wondering hearts. Just staring, looking without seeing, speaking without talking, just feeling the presence of the other so close to themselves. It was always like this when they were here, amongst the flowers and the isolation of their own little sanctuary.

The clouds that had rolled over the sun now retreated slowly, and the soft rays once again peaked through the tall trees to illuminate the area.

Diamonds, glittering diamonds covered every inch of the pale skin before him, and he smiled. Ivan's eyes flickered away for a moment, glancing at the sun before again looking back to his love. Alfred just watched, captivated by the sparkling skin that displayed itself before him. What a sight that would have been, to see the two in their own little world of stark contrast. Alfred there, laying against the plush grasses with his hair like honey and skin the color of gold. He didn't glimmer like Ivan did, instead merely lay there beneath the flowers and the clouds and the stars, so horribly mortal as he and his vampire lay side by side.

The sun was cloaked again, and for another moment, they both looked human.

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	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Just a cute little something. I noticed the, unfortunately, little amount of poly relationships on here and decided to give it a shot. Vladimir is 2p!Russia.**

. . . . .

**More**

He stood up a little straighter, standing taller on the tips of his toes as he reached above him, trying to grasp the bottle of vinegar on the top of the fridge. He could just feel the cold glass of the bottle on the pads of his fingers, yet could not reach to fully grasp it in his hand. Alfred jumped a bit, but instead of grabbing it, the bottle tipped over and rolled away. With an aggravated sigh, he brought a foot up to plant on the counter beside him, and was just about to push himself up when a body pressed against the back of his, and a large arm wrapped around his waist.

He saw a hand reach out past him and Alfred sighed; half in annoyance with his lack of height, and half in relief. When the bottle was brought down and handed to him, Alfred turned his head and gently pressed his lips to the underside of the other's chin,

"Thanks, Vlad."

Said Russian simply nodded, releasing Alfred from his arm after an affectionate squeeze was given, before returning to his place in front of the stove. The brunette continued his cooking as Alfred walked over, returning to his own pan on the open flame. They cooked together in silence, only the sound of sputtering oils and clanking of pans to fill in for the lack of noise. Alfred leaned against the large brunette beside him, and Vladimir freed an arm to wrap around him, but they said nothing else as they went about making dinner.

Soon Alfred pulled away and stood on his tip toes to softly kiss the Russian, before he grabbed the plates and glasses from the cabinet and began to set the table for three.

The front door open, and Alfred smiled widely at the man who came in the door. He put down the last napkin before walking through the threshold to get the others coat as he handed it to him.

"How was work, Vanya?"

His only reply was a shrug, but Alfred had grown too used to it to care. He turned to put the coat in the closet when he was grabbed by the waist. Laughing softly at the breath that tickled his neck, he turned his head and pressed a sweet kiss to the other's lips before removing himself from Ivan's grasp and hanging up the coat again. When he turned back the other was gone, but he found him again in the kitchen, pouring water into the set glasses on the table.

Soon Vladimir was done with the food, and it was distributed evenly onto the plates before they all sat down together, and began to talk about what they did that day.

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	16. Chapter 16

**Shoe**

Faster and faster; he had to run faster. Behind him he could hear the snapping of the dogs' jaws as they barked angrily behind him, along with the pounding of hooves and men shouting. His feet ached, and the fall night was cold, seeming even colder to him as he ran quickly through the woods. Jumping over trees, dunking under branches- Alfred couldn't stop for anything.

His extravagant suit, a rich, royal blue accented with shimmering gold, caught onto the branches and tore at some places, but that didn't stop him either. His blood was pumping, fear was coursing through his veins- he needed to hurry.

But, as he picked up his pace, running faster and farther from those who searched for him, his food caught onto a risen root on the forest floor. Alfred fell to the ground, but didn't let the ache in his limbs get to him as he quickly stood again, only to find his foot caught under the root.

He could hear them getting closer, and when he threw a worried look over his shoulder, he could see their lanterns coming towards him. Alfred tugged back his foot with all his might, but it wouldn't budge. Realizing that there would be no way to get out but one, he knelt down, wiggling and moving his foot about until it slipped from the glass shoe he wore. With another quick look thrown over his shoulder, Alfred leapt over the root and took off once again into the night.

Soon, horses and men filled the area, and their lanterns illuminated the small space. A beam of light caught onto the glass shoe wedged under the root, making it shine and catch the attention of the search party. One man dropped from his horse: a tall, rather angry looking man, with rage filled eyes and clenched teeth. His royal attire of silver and violet were askew from the fast and rough ride he had just partaken in.

He moved closer and bent down, grabbing onto the glimmering heel and pulling it out from under the root. He examined it closely for a moment, then, a wide grin crept upon his lips. He chuckled a dark chuckle, one that held more sinister meaning then pleasant.

"Ah, my little sunflower. You have not escaped me, and I will see to it that you never can."

With that, the crazed prince stood and looked back to his men, the smile still on his lips as he spoke,

"I want all the young men of the kingdom rounded up and brought to the palace at once. Those who refuse are to be killed." He said with a childish tone that was too gruesome for the situation, "I want him found before the week is out."

With that, the prince tucked away the slipped and remounted his horse, calling his now fearful and trembling men back to the castle as he turned and trotted back the way he came.

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	17. Chapter 17

**Odd**

"They're rather odd, aren't they?"

The young man jumped, the broom that was once in his hand clattering to the ground. He scrambled to pick it up again, and turned to look at the man behind him when it was firmly in his grasp.

"E-Excuse me?"

The emerald-eyed man gestured past his shoulder, to the two people that sat beneath the oak tree in the garden. The larger of the two had in head in the other's lap, listening as the blue-eyed blonde read to him from the book of poetry in his hand. The servant turned to look back at them, before looking at the man again.

"Those two," said the fellow servant with the thick eyebrows, "King Ivan and Queen Alfred. A peculiar pair, they are."

Matthew gave him a bewildered look, which made the other raise a thick eyebrow, "Oh? You don't know?"

Arthur had always been one for the gossip of the castle- with no life of your own, you tended to be more interested in the lives of the others. He glanced back at the royal couple beneath the tree before he turned, talking to the new servant in a quiet tone, "They're both a bloody crazy. The blond one, Alfred, he comes from a kingdom in the South that's known for their assassination attempts at all the surrounding kingdoms. Its rumored that he killed his brothers so he'd get a closer chance at the throne."

Matthew, however, found that rather hard to believe. The way Alfred ran his hands through the King's hair, the warm smile on his lips and the gentle way he spoke. Arthur seemed to catch onto his doubt, because he continued, "He looks sweet, doesn't he? Just lovely and all that, but the chap isn't all he seems. See, the only reason his home kingdom is so vast is because the little whore would bed the fellow kings then kill them. He'd let them have their way with him, but just days later they'd be found dead in the most brutal ways." His tone was quiet, and he'd glance over his shoulder every so often.

"But the King is even worse. He killed his father when he was 10, shoved a knife right through the man's heart in his sleep. He's a downright monster on the battle field as well, the lunatic goes on the front line with a damn smile on his face."

The hands around the broom were now trembling and sweat dripped down his forehead with every word. He shot a glance to the two before turning back to Arthur, "N-No way.."

Arthur nodded, leaning in a bit closer, "And get this, they're like demons. The maids would go in to clean their bathtub and their towels would be dripping with blood. Their sheets are always torn and their furniture has to be replaced at least once every month." Arthur curled his lip slightly, "And the Queen has such a big mouth, you can hear the damn whore screaming for more on the other side of the castle."

He looked back over his shoulder, observing the two again as he spoke, "And odd, dangerous pair, indeed. They look like they've been madly in love since they met, but they're both just downright mad."

By then Matthew couldn't take it anymore. He was shaking in his boots, and fear had filled his whole body. He excused himself quickly, and Arthur watched him leave. Someone had to tell the poor boy about them- and who better then Arthur. The older servant just shrugged, glancing back under the tree one last time as he turned to leave, but then froze.

The blood drained from his face.

The King and Queen were smiling at him.

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